


Smoke

by volna (seductrce)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, addiction tw, not really but yk just to be sure, sex and smoking kind of idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductrce/pseuds/volna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever feel like having the cigarette after? Oikawa Tooru sure does. Every.single.time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Put this on repeat: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3b1CDLsiGU
> 
> Now read.

Oikawa Tooru slowly opened his eyes. The warm, dim light of a 7 pm sun in early autumn was lightening up his room through the chiffon curtains, a light breeze coming in through the tilted window.

The other male‘s face was incredibly close. So close, that Oikawa could count every single eye lash in Ushijima Wakatoshi‘s sleeping face.  
Oikawa inhaled deeply. 

Ushijima looked... almost peaceful? Relaxed was probably a better word, and vulnerable. Unlike his usual confident act.

 

Oikawa shuffled a little, hissing quietly at the satisfying pain all over his body, and just then noticed that his legs and feet were apparently tangled with Ushijima‘s, invisible underneath the thin bedcover. They were lying so close. When did that happen?

Oikawa looked back up and Ushijima‘s face caught his gaze once more. He was breathing slowly through his long nose set in that handsome face of his and Oikawa wanted nothing more than to let a finger glide down the side of it.

He reached out until his fingertips made contact with Ushijima‘s temple. Letting them slide down slowly, Oikawa exhaled, not having noticed that he‘s been holding his breath all this time.

 

It hitched, when Ushijima frowned and opened his eyes with fluttering lashes. He looked up and as their gazes met Oikawa felt a sudden lump form in his throat.  
He wanted to pull the fingers that were now resting just underneath Ushijima‘s chin away, but Ushijima‘s own hand, coming out of nowhere, closed around them, bringing them up to his lips. 

 

„Hey.“

 

„Hey.“

 

„You‘re awake.“ 

 

Oikawa sighed. Ushijima always stated the obvious. The unnecessary. Pulling his hand from Ushijima‘s grip, he rolled over and grasped the little box and lighter from his bed stand.

Leaning back into the pillows propping him up, Oikawa pulled out a smoke and set it between his lips, lightening it up carefully. He took one long drag before sighing again, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. He could feel Ushijima‘s gaze on himself. 

 

Without looking, Oikawa passed the cigarette over, letting Ushijima take an equally deep hit. Usually, the smoke would have made him sick, but here in bed it was the complete opposite. He inhaled again, when Ushijima‘s exhalation wafted past him.

 

„This was a mistake.“

 

Oikawa barked out a bitter laugh. 

 

„Of course it was. It always is.“

 

His voice was earnest and honest, because it was true. Mistake after mistake after mistake after mistake.  
He let Ushijima have another drag before putting the smoke between his lips again and breathing in the toxin. 

 

They lay like this, in silence, one long moment, until the cigarette was out and gone. 

 

Oikawa sat up, pulling his knees in and putting his head against them. Looking back, he already knew what he‘d see. Ushijima‘s gaze was upon him, studying him silently as if he was some kind of statue one can admire in a museum, taking in every feature like he was seeing him for the first and last time and had to memorize it all. 

 

Suddenly Ushijima‘s hand rose, and he let it slide down Oikawa‘s exposed spine, making him close his eyes at the sensation, hot fingertips against his always cool skin, the shivers reaching even his toes. 

It was as if the other male knew exactly, what he had to do. 

 

Throwing the covers back, Ushijima got up and dressed in silence. Fast. Efficient. Not wasting any time. His light blue sweater was almost a touch too big for him, it hung loose around his waist making him look ... casual.  
He looked good, Oikawa thought. So good.

 

His eyes never left Ushijima, not even when he walked around the bed to Oikawa‘s side, and when the other male‘s hand came to rest on his cheek Oikawa automatically looked up into Ushijima‘s eyes.  
The moment was too short. Ushijima pressed his lips against Oikawa‘s forehead once, firmly, before the hand on Oikawa‘s face was gone.

 

„I‘ll call you.“, Ushijima said, stopping one last time in the doorframe before finally leaving.

 

Oikawa kept silently starring at the spot where he had last stood. The sheets went cold around him. 

 

************************************

 

Days go by and Oikawa can feel it. Absence. Deprivation. 

 

He twitches everytime his phone makes a sound, only to find that it‘s because of one of his lovely (tedious) fan girls, or his mother, or Iwa-chan. 

He jumps everytime the prefecture or the interhigh or Shiratorizawa are mentioned, earning him accusatory looks from his team mates and coaches.

He fails to serve properly and spikes worse than he ever did in middle school and almost throws a 5-year-old from Little‘s League out the window, when the kid asks him to show him the proper way to hold one‘s hands when receiving for the twentieth time in a row. 

 

It is not exactly a physical problem Oikawa is facing.  
He lays hands on himself often enough and yet they are never the ones he so desperately needs.  
He knows he shouldn‘t and yet his mind is filled with Ushijima‘s face and body and voice and he wants to throw his phone against a wall, because he doesn‘t need this, he doesn‘t want this.

 

But practice becomes a nuisance and school becomes a bother and Iwa-chan looks at him with those eyes full of disappointment that Oikawa can‘t take.

 

When Ushijima‘s message finally reaches him just about two weeks after their last time, he nearly drops his phone upon seeing the name of the sender.

 

„Today. 4pm. Your place.“

 

Oikawa‘s hand clenches around the device as he stares down at the three short sentences and he is mad. As he should be. He doesn‘t want this but he also wants it so bad it feels like he has been in rehab for two weeks straight recovering (you mean suffering of withdrawal) from overusage of a drug. Which was technically true. He hadn‘t had a single smoke in two weeks. 

 

„I cant.“, he texts back.

 

„Of course you can.“, he receives.

 

„Fuck you, Ushiwaka-chan.“, he sends.

 

No answer.

 

Same day, at 3.52 pm Oikawa‘s doorbell rings and he is grateful to all the Gods that might be up there that his parents are both working and he is home alone.  
Groaning, he gets up and tries to convince himself he is indeed not running towards the door. He is definitely not.

Oikawa swings it open and there he is, standing straight, looking down onto him. He always has such good posture, Oikawa recalls, taking in Ushijima‘s appearance, greyish v-neck over black t-shirt, dark pants, expensive shoes. Handsome. Too handsome, Oikawa thinks.

 

„You are too early.“, is what he says.

 

Ushijima‘s poise softens a bit, his gaze burning itself into Oikawa‘s. Oikawa can feel it, the tension, the anticipation, as if he just can‘t wait to cross his threshold. 

 

„Who cares.“

 

And just like that they are kissing again. The door swings and Oikawa‘s shirt is on the floor long before it slams shut.  
Ushijima‘s lips are on him, his hands are everywhere and Oikawa knows what this is, because he feels the same way, their kisses desperate, so desperate they almost tear each other apart.

Their clothes can‘t fall fast enough as Oikawa‘s hands glide over Ushijima‘s chest and Ushijima‘s hands are fisted into Oikawa‘s soft mahagony hair, pulling him in and pressing their lips together so vehemently that they bite their tongues and their teeth clash. 

 

Oikawa has been waiting for this, wanting, needing, yearning, a desire for the other‘s touch burning so deep inside of him he could not shake it off and now Ushijima‘s hands were all over him, touchingtouchingtouching and Oikawa could not help but moan into the other‘s mouth.

 

They reach his bedroom already naked and fall onto the bed already drunk from each other‘s presence.  
Their movements are frantic and wild and yet agonizingly gentle, Ushijima‘s body under him and over him and when he‘s finally in him, Oikawa feels like he is getting a long-overdue fix.

 

They spend moment after moment as if in trance, ecstatic screaming and hushed whispers and moans loud enough to echo through the whole house until Oikawa‘s cries turn into whimpers as he is riding out his orgasm in Ushijima‘s lap, their lips connected once more, the thirst somewhat contained, but not ceased, never that.

 

This time Ushijima falls down closer to the bed stand. After lightening up a cigarette he looks up at the ceiling, one arm casually stuck behind his head to support it.

He is just taking a deep drag when Oikawa rolls on top of him again, putting his mouth over Ushijima‘s and inhaling deeply, sucking the smoke out of his lungs.

„Ahhhhh“, Oikawa sighs, throwing his head back in satisfaction and clawing his hands into Ushijima‘s shoulders, eyes closed, only listening to Ushijima taking another hit.  
Oikawa‘s fingers glide down towards the other male‘s chest, caressing it lightly before putting his forehead against it.  
For some reason he feels like crying. 

 

He was the one straddling Ushijima right now but he was not in control. He had never been. Rather he felt as if he was yet again being captured by something that kept on dragging him towards this man who was not his rival and not his friend and not even his lover. 

 

Suddenly Oikawa could feel a hand ruffling through his messy sex hair before gliding down and gently grabbing his chin inbetween strong fingers.  
Lifting Oikawa‘s face, Ushijima slightly rose from the pillows below him to invade Oikawa‘s mouth with another shot of smoke and tongue. 

The make-out was short and intense and Oikawa stayed in his position until the cigarette was only a short butt on the bed stand.  
Ushijima‘s hands found the sides of his face again and he pressed their foreheads together, stuck in something one could not quite call an embrace.

 

„Don‘t wait for so long, next time. You know exactly that I only get to smoke when we do this and unfortunately, I have become an addict.“

 

Ushijima opened one eye to look at Oikawa, his face so close it was mostly out of focus.  
He sighed, before kissing and pressing him to his chest again. 

 

„That‘s what nicotine seems to do to you. I might need another one.“

 

By the end of the week Oikawa had to go out for cigarettes. He bought two packs in advance. A box of 19 wouldn‘t last for too long. Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope people aren't reading this anymore bc it's bad and I want to leave my mortal body


End file.
